So Here We Are
by PoetOnAPuzzle
Summary: Something has changed – shifted – in the space they kept between themselves. They're standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out into the big neon unknown. She can see it. She knows he can too. It's in the way he lingers. The way his fingers fidget near hers. So she says four little words, because it seems right. "So here we are."


She watches him stagger back into the lab. He favors his right leg, sinking a few inches every time he puts weight on his left. His face is sallow, creviced. A shadow haunts his face. His skin seems stretched too thin over what was otherwise once a bright and handsome face. She's crossing the room before Cisco and Wells have a chance to notice the blank expression in his eyes.

They all stand and watch for a second, as he hovers there for a moment before reaching up and removing his mask.

The blank stare in his eyes worries her.

"Barry?"

He seems to snap back into himself at the sound of her voice. The light dials back into his green orbs as if there was never a far off look there in the first place. Cisco asks, "Are you alright?"

Barry nods. "Got grazed by a bullet. No big deal. I'll heal up soon."

She doesn't buy it. Her hands come up to rest on her hips, and she makes a disapproving noise. "Medical Lab. Now."

"Caitlin, really, it's fine. _I'm_ fine." Barry says. He maneuvers his way around her, letting her hand drag across his shoulder before he's out of her reach. His limp becomes less pronounced. She sees right through the ruse. It pains him just as it did before, but he's moving slower, trying to hide it. He isn't fooling her. He gives her a small smile as he passes but the look behind his eyes only seems to grow. He heads to the medical lab, grabbing his jeans and a shirt.

Caitlin looks to Cisco, to Wells, but they're busing themselves with tracking down where the robbers from earlier managed to acquire military grade assault rifles. They don't notice.

She wonders if maybe she's just imagining things. Then she sees the way Barry moves. Exhaustion seems to cling to him like cellophane. She sees the way he moves slowly, his muscles knitting together, flexing and stretching, and with each aggressive movement, the momentary flicker of pain across his face. Barry is pulling on his jeans. His shirt is gone. His back is covered in bruises. Some fading, others red and angry, fresh.

She grabs his shirt from the chair beside him. Barry turns and gives her a look. But Caitlin can't hold his gaze. She's drawn to the wound on his side. A fiendish looking bruise that's spread across his kidney like a Jackson Pollock. A knife wound that he's haphazardly slapped a bandage over covers the length of a few of his ribs on his right side. The gash is still leaking through the thin gauze. The blood is so dark, so starkly wrong against the pale of Barry's skin.

She makes for him; her hand comes up and out, reaching. She knows she's not wearing gloves; she knows she's risking making things worse if she's not careful. But the site of the wounds has something spinning around inside her head. He should be healing. Why isn't he healing?

Her temper flares to life beneath her concern.

Reckless. Stupid and irresponsible. How could he be so careless to let himself get hurt so bad?

Barry doesn't hesitate. He takes the shirt from her, hands moving at a blur, and she doesn't even have time to react. Before Caitlin fully understands what just happened, Barry already is slipping on the shirt. He's moving away from her, his limp still there.

"Where do you think you're going?" Caitlin calls after him.

Barry pauses. He keeps his back to her. He doesn't turn, but she can see the muscles in his back working. All tightly coiled and corded. They move in time, contracting and releasing, as he breathes in sharply. She can tell exactly what parts of his body are aching at the motion. All she wants to do is pull him back, and at least properly bandage him up.

He spins on his heel and gives her a smile that doesn't stretch to his eyes. "Just the bathroom."

"It can wait. I need to get you patched up."

"Soon. Promise."

Her lips move to respond, but he's gone, staggering his way out of the cortex. She stares at the place he'd just been. Part of her wonders if that was really Barry Allen. Had he been kidnapped and replaced with some emotionless thing? But she knew it was her Barry. His eyes were the same. However clouded, she would always recognize the flecks of gold in them. She races after him, determined not to let this slide. When she comes into the hallway, she's alone.

Barry's gone.

Caitlin wants to scream in frustration. She has a mind to send him an angry text. But she doesn't because she knows better. She looks to Cisco and Wells, and they've removed themselves from their little bubble of science jargon to notice that Barry is gone. They ask her where he's run off to. So Caitlin does the only thing she can think to do.

She shrugs.

They close up the cortex for the night, but Caitlin won't find sleep easily. She wonders if Barry's fully healed. The lack of confirmation drives her up the wall. The worry nags at the perfectionist streak in her. At least that's what she tells herself.

When she comes to work the next day she expects to find him back to his usual self. She's wrong. The haggard look on his face is more pronounced than before. There are purple bags under his eyes, dark and sickly. He doesn't smile or quip as they discuss the lack of activity for the night. They decide to turn in early that night. But Barry stays behind. Caitlin watches him suit up at eleven pm. He's gone before she can ask him why, papers trailing after him as he bolts from the Cortex. She sits and busies herself with some research and puzzles. She plans to wait for him to come back. She'll drive him home if he'll let her. Caitlin checks her watch again at two in the morning.

Worry settles into her gut like a sinking stone. Caitlin finds herself pacing at some point nearing three am. Minutes stretch on and she loses the battle in her head. She's fumbling with her phone, speed dialing his number before she can find a reason not to. She tells herself it's a bad idea, but she can't stop herself.

On the third ring Caitlin hears his voice on the other end. Her breath comes out in a rush. She hadn't realized she was holding it.

"Is everything alright?" he asks her, his voice gravely and low. He speaks slowly, a stark contrast from his usually awkward, rapid rambling.

"It's late," She says, "Are you okay? I thought you'd be back by now. Did something happen?"

Barry asks, "You're still at the Cortex?"

Caitlin clears her throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Yes?"

"You can head home Caitlin. I'm going to be late. You don't need to wait up," he says.

"How late is late?"

"Another hour or two. I'm going to finish my patrol and then see if Oliver needs any help."

Caitlin wants to respond, but decides against. She hears his tone, and she catches the stubborn edge of it. It infuriates her. She grips the edge of the computer table, wondering if she should have this fight now, or choose her battles. This is the first she's hearing of him traveling all the way to Starling City. Her mind bounces back and forth, stung and feeling dumb for waiting for him like this. But she bites her tongue, struggling to quell the need to argue. There is no sense in hashing this out over the phone.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Yeah," he replies.

She hesitates; then, "I can drive you home when you get back if you want."

"Thanks but I'm alright. Head home. Get some sleep, Cait."

She wants to pretend she doesn't feel the rejection like a bee sting. Like she's not burdening him with her worry. Four weeks ago they'd driven home together. It'd been nice. They stopped and gotten a coffee at Jitters to celebrate a job well done. It'd become a habit since. She and Cisco would stay and wait for him, and then they'd get coffee or drinks and enjoy each other's company. Away from the world of the Flash and the Metahumans. Away from all the chaos and the anxiety it came with.

They were just people.

Two boys and a girl.

Friends. Just people trying to live their lives and find some fun where they could.

She struggles to find a way to keep him on the line. She wants to ask what's going on. She knows she can't though. So Caitlin does the only thing there's left to do. She says goodnight. She hates how her voice wavers, betraying that she does actually care, that this isn't something she's just going to shrug off.

He says goodnight in return. There's a silence on the line then. A beat. No longer than a thump of the heart. It feels like an eternity. Then it's quiet. A resounding click cuts the hopeful moment short, like a knife to gut.

She hoped Barry had been contemplating how to tell her what's on his mind. That maybe he would tell her over the phone because he wouldn't have to show his face. So he wouldn't have to bare his heart on his sleeve any more than he already does. But click and the hum of dead air cuts that dream down at the stem.

She stuffs her phone into her bag and shuts the lights. The Cortex suddenly seems like a roiling beast. Overbearing, breathing down her neck. For the all the good they do in this room, she realizes how much pain this room holds. The pain of broken families, lost loved ones, people they once trusted turning their backs and betraying the trust that once held them all together. In the dark, it's cold. It reeks of sterilized alcohol pads, sweat, unfinished coffee, and cleaning supplies. Caitlin finds it ironic how all of the negatives seem to end up buried when the lights are on. It's odd how rapidly the sad memories that have occurred in this room start to gather strength in the dark.

She leaves the oppressive silence of the Cortex and drives home. She lets Barry creep into her thoughts only once. And then he's gone. Pushed out by the need to sleep.

Caitlin resolves to find out what's going on with him tomorrow. Even if she has to force it from him.

When she wakes the next morning, Caitlin notices she's slept late into her Saturday. There are no messages on her phone, which she takes as a good sign. Usually when there's something going on, her phone is vibrating fast enough that Caitlin sometimes thinks it's trying explode and put itself out of its misery. She takes her time getting ready. Going over the different ways she can figure out what's going on inside Barry's head, her morning passes in a blur. She works on autopilot, cooking breakfast, barely registering that her eggs are a little drier than she's accustomed to, and that she's accidently slipped on two different earrings.

She forces herself to snap out of it as she drives. She's got time. She's got all day, she reminds herself. Then she realizes, as she sits at an obscenely long red-light, that this is positively idiotic.

Since when did she need to strategize? Since when did she need to plan out her conversations with Barry? Had they ceased to be on a level where they could just ask and the other knew, just _knew_ , to be honest?

Her mind chimes in, cruelly reminding her.

Since he got that look in his eye. Like he hasn't seen the light of the sun in years. Like some shadow cracked him open and hollowed out the light that had poured out of him like a song.

She fights that thought.

He's still Barry. Whatever this is, she will be there for him. Because he's got her heart in his corner every step of the way. She knows their bond's strength. It's been tempered by fire and loss and long nights spent at each other's side.

She pretends her heart doesn't ache at the memory of the void behind his eyes. It made him seem alien, afraid, lost. She hates it. Caitlin knows the look. She'd seen it every miserable morning after Ronnie died. She'd seen it in every mirror, in every window, in every photo.

At least until she'd met Barry.

She knows that Barry had been the one to make her smile, really and truly smile, since Ronnie's death. She would always love him for that. Yet he's not willing to let her do the same for him.

Caitlin steels her resolve. She'll change that. She owes him that. Barry had pried her icy shell open when he'd first met her, and he barely knew her then. But he cared. He'd put himself in a stranger's corner, and hadn't left in the three years they'd known each other. Now, it was her turn. And she cared more than she was willing to admit.

There just needed to be a good way to go about it.

She doesn't plan for the day to go as it does. They're surprisingly busy. There are two robberies, a building fire, and a gun-ring sale. But it's the end of the day that catches them off guard. A meta-human rears his head. They manage to pin point his ability quickly, and it's an unpleasant one. He shoots spikes made of bone from his hands, and Barry ends up on the receiving end of them.

As Cisco locks up the Meta, Barry checks the computer for any more disturbances. Caitlin ghosts up beside him and squeezes his wrist.

"Med Lab. Now, please."

Barry eyes her, and Caitlin fights it, but fails. She shivers. She hates the hollow, sad look in the green of his eyes. She just wants to grab his face and shake him. She despises how there's no medicine for this. There's no medical treatment she can give him to help him smile again. She can't tap a few pressure points, give him a shot, slap a bandage on him.

And it hurts knowing that.

 _It hurts_.

To watch him continue to carry this weight, whatever it stems from, on his shoulders is like an exercise in torture. It's like watching an honest-to-god storm follow him around. And for a guy who was struck by lightning, she finds the analogy surprisingly un-funny.

All she wants to do is fix it.

"I'm fine" Barry says, eyes darting back down to the computer screens that blink away with different statistics and police reports.

Caitlin feels a hot lance of anger jolt through her. "Oh really? That's why you've got two spikes sticking out of your Infraspinatus?"

"My what now?"

"You've got bone spears sticking out of your back, Barry."

Barry cocks an eyebrow, straightens, and flexes his back. Rolling his shoulders. Wincing at the way the spikes dig into already healing flesh. He makes a sound deep in his throat, and Caitlin hates the way she thinks it might have been a pleasant sound under different circumstances.

Then he's reaching up and over, and yanking them out. One comes out, and she yelps, and then she's fussing over him, but he blocks her way and yanks out the other. He tosses them on the cortex table and gives her a small smile.

"There. All better," he says, giving her his worst impression of a smile, "Stop fussing, Cait. I'm fine. I promise."

Her hand twitches at her side. It's coming up over her head when she catches herself. What was she thinking? Was she going to slap him? What would hitting him solve? Would there even be a point to it?

Caitlin shakes her head. "I need some air."

She's moving away before she can stop herself. She walks around the halls of the Lab, trying to clear her head. She can't, and that frustrates her. She's drawn back to the same thought.

It hurts, seeing him like this.

She steels herself. This ends now, she tells herself. She takes two deep breaths. In, out, in out. Then she's clenching her fists, focusing. She tries to look like she's ready and able, but Caitlin knows she's failing. She's made of nervous energy. Just bundles of nerve endings and synapses firing off like strobe lights, each snapping to life with an idea or a scenario. None of them seem good enough. None of them seem _right_. She and Barry are having this out now, that's all she knows.

When she returns to the Cortex, he's gone. The suit is hung up in its place. She screams an obscenity, frustration getting the better of her. Cisco rounds the corner, eyebrow cocked, looking rightfully bewildered.

"You good?" he asks.

"Where's Barry?" she counters.

Cisco just shrugs. "Roof?"

Caitlin blinks. "The roof?"

"Yeah, he's been going there a lot these past few days."

Caitlin shakes her head, confused. "Why?"

"I don't know. He always gets a little weird around this time of year."

Caitlin nods; suddenly glad she's not the only one who has noticed. She scoots into a chair and pulls up the camera feeds. She cycles through the different angles, and then freezes. Sure enough, Barry is on the roof. He's sitting on the south corner, elbows propped on his knees. Looking out into the city lights beyond.

Her breath catches in her throat.

Something hits her, and there's a pop that goes off in the forefront of her brain. She stands abruptly. Cisco flinches, caught off guard. Then she's grabbing her coat and walking away.

"Dude, where are you going?" Cisco calls after her.

"To be his company," She calls back.

Something shifts in her perspective and she knows she's being going about this all-wrong. Seeing him like that, standing alone, looking at the City in the distance, she doesn't think she's ever seen Barry look so lost before. She wonders why she'd been thinking about this like it should have ended in some kind of confrontation.

Her mother would have called it a row.

Caitlin would have called it a fight.

It makes her sick to think that that was how she had been viewing it. Like she needed to _confront_ him about this. She should have known better. She'd let that icy indignation at his lack of concern for his well being become something it shouldn't have.

But seeing him like that…

Caitlin chews her bottom lip. She'd been looking at him like a stranger. Been looking at that hollow stare like some kind of alien look on him. But that was wrong. She knew the look all to well. She had worn the same look before he'd pulled her out of her shell.

Loss.

That's what she's been seeing.

She stops in front of the rooftop door. Caitlin takes a breath and wraps her fingers around the handle. It's cold to the touch.

She's not going to look at this like a fight, she thinks to herself. She's going to just be a shoulder to lean on. She's going to trust in their bond. She's going to his support this time. If he wants to tell her, he will. She turns that into a mantra. She'll find a way to let him know how worried she is. But for now, she just wants to pull him close, and let him know she'll be there if he needs it.

So she tightens her grip and pushes the door open.

The gust of the wind hits her like a freezing freight train. Caitlin shivers, but tugs her scarf tighter.

He's sitting, and she comes to stand behind him.

"Hey," Barry says.

"Hi," she replies.

There's an expectant silence then. Long and full of so many things. Caitlin wonders if Barry is waiting for her to break the silence just like she's waiting for him to. In the end, Barry caves first.

"It's cold up here. You should head inside," Barry says, "I'll be in soon too."

"Can I sit with you instead?"

Barry's head turns slowly, and Caitlin feels her breath hitch in her throat. His eyes aren't a stranger's. They're wide and green and so full of different emotions she wonders how he's managed to hide all this until now. Caitlin waits for his response, and finally he nods.

She wonders if she should give him space. Sit away from him. But she decides against it. So she tucks her knees beneath her chin and sits close to him. Close enough for their shoulders to touch.

When Barry finally speaks, Caitlin notices for the first time his shoulder leaning into her, as if he's tethering himself to her, to this moment.

"I can almost see my house from here."

Caitlin blinks. Out on the horizon line, Central City twinkles with life. City lights blink on and off, humming with the vibrancy of its entire people. The city seems to pulse with light, like fireflies in a far off field. The buildings stretch, scarping the sky and all its stars, blending together to create a dance of gentle silver light and thrumming orange glows. But Caitlin can't help her confusion.

"Really?" she asks, "But your house is in the upper west end of the city. How can you see it?"

Barry shakes his head, "Not that house."

And then it clicks for her. Caitlin feels like a giant flashbulb has gone off in her head. He's not talking about Joe's house.

"Where's the house you grew up in?"

Barry shrugs, "The suburbs. Just over that hill. In all that green."

Caitlin nods. She might not be able to see it, but she knows it's there, and she knows what it means.

Barry laughs, "I used to be able to see Star Labs from my window."

Caitlin gives him a smile, "Must be ironic."

A rueful little snort escapes him, "Tell me about it. If I could told ten year old me that in seventeen years he'd be spending all his time at Star Labs, it'd blow his mind."

"Well…you technically could. Time travel isn't an impossibility for you, you know."

A shadow falls over his face. "Don't tempt me."

A minute passes in silence before Barry speaks again. "Are you cold?"

She shakes her head. "No. I've got you. You tend to run pretty warm."

He nudges her with his shoulder. "Hah, hah."

She smiles, and he smiles back at her. "There it is," she says.

He turns to her, eyes probing, questioning. "There's what?"

"Your smile," she hesitates, wondering if she should say it, but then she does, and she knows it was right, "I missed it."

"It doesn't feel like there's much for me to smile about right now."

"Why is that?"

He's quiet for a long time then. She thinks to herself once more that in all her years of knowing him, she's never seen him look so lost. So much like a skeleton. "I'm… scared, Caitlin."

"Scared? Scared of what?" she asks.

He points to a dark patch of green just off to the left of the suburbs. "My dad's grave is there, in Central City Community Parish." He shakes his head, "In two days, it'll be the one year anniversary of his death."

It feels like there's a lump in her throat. A block of ice that's chilled the blood in her veins. It all makes sense. The haunted look, the bags under his eyes, the miles-away-stare. It all makes so much sense in the worst possible way. "I'm so sorry Barry."

"I've been too afraid to visit his grave. I haven't gone once. Not since the funeral."

"Why are you afraid?" she asks, leaning into him, hoping the contact will give him the strength to answer.

Barry stands then, abruptly, and so quickly he startles her. He cards his hands through his hair. "Look at me, Cait. I have all this power, and yet there's a house in the middle of the suburbs and it's _empty._ " His fists clench tight and she just wants to reach for them, "It's empty when it should be full." He sniffs, a hand absently coming up to swipe at his eyes, "All this power…and I'm still too slow."

"Barry…"

"I can run at the speed of sound and yet in two days my Dad will have been buried in a plot four miles from that house for a whole _year_ , Caitlin." He rubs his temples, "And guess who couldn't save him?"

"Barry… that's not your fault…"

"No it _is_ my fault. Because I wasn't fast enough. If I had just been a little faster, just a little smarter, there would be one less Allen buried. One more person I couldn't protect." Barry said, "For the past three nights all I can see when I close my eyes is my dad. With Zoom's arm sticking out his chest."

Caitlin opens her mouth, but part of her knows she shouldn't speak. That Barry needs this. That this is something he needs to get out.

"God, first my mom, then Eddie, then Ronnie, and finally my dad? The funerals keep piling up. I'm supposed to be a hero. And some days, when I look at my track record, I don't feel like much of one."

"You are a hero, Barry."

"I don't feel like one. For all the good I do, I sure as hell can't seem to keep the people that matter most to me from getting hurt." Barry said, "And seeing my dad's grave is just going to be the biggest reminder of that."

They are quiet then, unsure of where to go from here. A thousand things run through Caitlin's mind. She wants to give him a pep talk. She wants to tell him that to her he'll always be a hero. Her hero. That everything he does is a rejection of the loss that should have defined him since he was young, and the loss he faces now. A rejection of how it would cripple anyone else. But she knows he doesn't need a pep talk. Barry doesn't need empty platitudes and reassurances. And then it strikes her. A memory. Of the first time she'd really opened up to anyone since Ronnie. And she knows exactly what to say.

"What if we went together?"

Barry looks at her, "What?"

"Do you remember when we first met? How afraid I was to go into the pipeline?"

Barry nods.

"You took me down there," She says, standing, "You stayed with me. You helped me through it. Helped me face that fear. Let me do the same for you." And for all her conservative qualities, Caitlin Snow makes a gamble in that moment. She reaches for him, fingertips grazing his knuckles. She lets her forefinger trail along the knuckle of his ring finger, then his thumb, giving him time to pull away, to reject the offer of comfort and solidarity. But he doesn't. Instead he turns his palm in hers, letting her fingers ghost along the inside of his wrist, fluttering over his pulse. It's pounding away, heavy and strong beneath her fingertips.

"I don't know how to tell him I'm sorry."

"Maybe you don't have to," She says, twining her fingers together with his, squeezing his hand in hers, "I think he knows you're sorry. I can't pretend to know your father well, but if he's anything like you… I think he'd just want to know you're happy, and you're still doing all the good work you do."

Caitlin can feel Barry's fingertips against hers. A chill goes up her spine that has nothing to do with the cold air.

"You'll go with me?"

Caitlin nods. "Every step of the way."

Barry nods, and the light in his eyes is back, it's there, and Caitlin can't help but think it's the brightest light around them. The city lights and the stars can't compete.

"Together then," He says, and squeezes her hand in his, so small compared to his own.

"Together," She echoes, "Now come on, let's go to Jitters and get a coffee. I'm freezing."

She thinks his laugh is the most pleasant sound she's heard all night.

* * *

It's cold when they reach the cemetery. She shuts the car door behind her and pulls her coat tighter around her. She thinks it cruel that the world has played into the pain of the day by making it this cold.

"So here we are." She says.

"Yeah." He says, voice thick.

She stands beside Barry, and she asks, "Are you ready?"

Barry, for all his usual smiles and bright eyes, is all tense muscles and nervous movements. His fingers curl and clench into fists, squeezing hard enough to make his knuckles turn to snow- white mountain peaks against the black of his coat, before he lets go and then the process repeats.

"I… I think so?"

Caitlin watches all of this and takes it in stride. She reaches over and snakes her forefinger with his. Barry glances down at their hands, and Caitlin wonders when they've became so comfortable with their physical contact. She wonders if she's misread the signs, misread the boundaries, misread just how she can actually be of use, and a hot lance of panic seeps into her. But then he threads his long, agile digits with hers and she's over the moon.

"Come on," she says, and he nods. They pause before the wrought-iron gates that loom overhead like some silently unimpressed metallic watchdog. She watches Barry as he takes a breath and steps foreword, crossing the threshold. She follows, as his hand tugs on hers. They fall into step, and she lets him move at his own pace. He maneuvers her through the mass of different headstones and she lets him. She won't rush him. There's no need to.

He stops in front of a modest headstone. It's simple but pristinely elegant. Little angle wings adorn the bottom, and on top, so small she almost misses it, is a tiny lightning bolt. Just like the one on his suit. The epitaph engraved on the stone is short and sweet, and she imagines that it suits Henry just fine.

 _Father & Husband. Henry Allen. There is no better world than the one with you_.

She leans close to Barry, letting her shoulder touch his. "You okay?"

Barry sniffs. "Yeah. Yeah I'm okay… I'm okay." His hand leaves hers and Caitlin can't help but miss the warmth it brings. He's stepping forward, bending down on one knee. His fingertips brush along the stone, tracing the letters of Henry's name, gently, as though his touch might shatter the marker.

"I miss him more every day, Cait."

"I know."

She can't see his face but she can see the way his shoulders rise and fall. She can hear the way his breath has taken on a ragged edge, just as his voice has. She quietly thinks to herself that it's such an alien sound on him. Profoundly out of place. Barry is made for laughter, smiles. He his made for quips and awkwardly fumbling through his sentences when he's nervous.

Part of her thinks that he's not built for this life, not built for the pain that eventually comes with heroics. He's too kind, too idealistic, and too hopeful. She worries every day that someone will eventually take advantage of it, just as Thawne had, just as Zoloman did. Yet she also knows beneath the protective affection she has for him that those traits are _exactly_ why he is the only one for the job. His heart is what lets him get back up after every fall, after every setback, every heartbreak.

How he's able to operate in both worlds absolutely boggles her mind.

"I'd planned it all out Cait. Everything he'd missed in the time he'd been locked away. I'd started a Netflix list of shows I thought he might like. I'd bought tickets to every basketball game that was at being held at Central City Stadium. I'd picked out every restaurant he'd ever said he liked and planned to take him there. One restaurant a week."

She doesn't say anything in response. There's nothing to say. She knows he just needs to get this out. She knows he's been bottling this all up and he can't anymore. She doesn't blame him. She'd done the same when Ronnie had died. So she does the best thing she can think of. She kneels beside him and lays her chin on his shoulder.

Empty platitudes and simple condolences wouldn't do his feelings justice.

"I miss you, Dad." He finally says, "So much."

"He was always so proud of you, Barry," Caitlin says, "Whenever I spoke with him, the way he said your name. You could just hear it in his voice."

A rueful little laugh escapes his lips. She can't pretend it doesn't hurt, the way she can hear all his sadness in that little sound. He lays the flowers he'd brought down and takes a long, deep breath and holds it before exhaling slowly. He stands then and turns to face her.

"Thank you, Caitlin. It means a lot."

She smiles, "Of course."

He clears his throat and looks at the gravestone. "Can I just…"

And she nods. She knows what he's trying to say, even if he can't. "Take your time. I'll wait by the gates."

He nods, smiles and thanks her.

When she reaches the bottom of the hill, she turns. Her breath seems to catch in her throat. The scene is something she'll never forget. Barry stands before the gravestone. Hair blowing, coat billowing in the wind. His mouth moves, but she can't hear what he's saying. He faces thick, rain laden grey clouds. Graves stretch as far as the eye can see, but there's no sadness in the scene. Just hope. In the distance, a low rumble of thunder echoes. The wind picks up, blowing leaves around him, but Barry doesn't seem to notice. He's standing tall. There's no longer a weight on his shoulders, threaten to make his knees buckle. His head's held high, his shoulders broad and confident. He bends and dusts his hand over the letters one last time, and then he's turning and walking towards her. The look on his face is purely Barry. Not the ghost that had been hovering over him. And in a field full of graves and skeletons, it's the most beautiful contrast she can think of.

He smiles at her and waves awkwardly. She returns the wave. Then there's a rush of air and a flicker of yellow lightning and he's standing before her.

She cocks an eyebrow, "Hey, come on, secret identity. Remember?"

He laughs and it's such a pleasant sound. No longer laden with pain and guilt. She glances at the grave, as though she'll find all of the darkness that had hung around him buried next to the headstone. She catches his eye, probing them for any traces of the hollow blankness behind them, and when she finds none, she lets go of a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

The sun might be setting behind the thunderclouds on the horizon line, and the shadows of the world might be growing longer in the waning light, but her world has never felt brighter.

Barry clears his throat, checks his watch, and offers her a small smile. "It's five o'clock. Are you up for an early dinner? My treat?"

* * *

Winter is her favorite season, she thinks to herself, as she strolls through the streets of downtown Central City. Barry hovers near her side, providing warmth and laughter. It's cold, the air is frigid, but she thinks she's never been happier to be outside. Barry cracks a joke, something about maybe checking out an Italian place, and while it doesn't register in her thoughts what _exactly_ he said, the sound of his laughter is so perfectly Barry that she doesn't bother stopping herself. Her left arm comes to wrap itself around his right.

It feels good, feels right, and the momentary silence is comfortable. She worries for the briefest of seconds that maybe she's crossed a line, but then she remembers the way Barry had folded his hand in hers and she knows she's overreacting.

Still, she steals a glance up at him, and when she sees the wide smile that's got him flashing his teeth, she laughs and tugs him along.

They decide on a quiet, small (shockingly) Italian place on the corner of Smith and Kreisberg. They're seated quickly, and she pretends not to notice Barry asking for corner booth near the windows. The Hostess smiles sweetly and agrees and when they're seated they slide in and watch as the snow begins to come down, sticking to the windows, and the street, painting the world in a soft dust of white. She thinks to herself, nights like this used to make her wistful and melancholy. Lonely, even. She'd sit by the window, wondering what was next for her. Then she met Barry, and that idea of what came next, that idea of the unknown no longer bothered her. She became to0 busy to dwell on those thoughts.

With Barry also came a social life. She and Cisco and Barry became inseparable. They'd go out to the bar, and take turns betting on how much alcohol Barry could drink before the bartenders wondered just how he wasn't passed out on the floor. Caitlin would convince him to do Karaoke with her every time. He'd stand up and sing in that surprisingly crystal clear voice of his and she would stumble along, laughing all the while. Fortunately she'd become comfortable enough with singing that she didn't have to get nearly as hammered as she did before. Close, but not quite. Still she enjoyed Barry and Cisco laughing along with her at their own mutual embarrassment. Then they'd sit and cringe as Cisco would treat them to a masterful (they used that word lightly) rendition of his favorite song of the night. She liked that about the team. There time together didn't always stop when the villain of the week was caught. She'd made valuable friends, friends who would have her back no matter what came and went. Tonight was proof of that.

Barry stares out the window. Chin in his hand, elbow resting casually on the table. He seems mesmerized by the falling flakes outside. His eyes dart this way and that, following the white that blankets the world.

"What's up?" she asks.

"Just thinking that it's going to be three years since I've become the Flash." He says.

"Getting sick of it yet?"

"Hell no," he says, teeth flashing.

She takes a sip of her water to hide that laugh that threatens to tumble out. "Good," She says, "Central City would be in deep trouble then."

Barry smiles then, a weird smile. Knowing. Timeless. His eyes turn to the serene stillness outside. He stays that way, staring out into the world blanketed by the seemingly infinite sea of moving white in the wind.

"You know, I used to wonder…why me?" he says.

Caitlin followed his gaze.

"I used to wonder why this all happened to me?" Barry says, eyes finding hers, "Like of all the people that could have become what I am, why was it me? What about me was special?"

Caitlin cocks her. "I think there's quite a bit that makes you special."

Barry shoots her an incredulous look, "Like what?"

"Like I said before, you can walk on water. I can only think of one other person who's been known to do that."

Barry laughs and says, "Fair enough, fair enough."

"You see my point though, right?"

Barry nods, "Sometimes it's just strange to think about. I mean all things considered, it's just weird."

Caitlin asks, "How so?"

"When I was a kid I used to have this dream." Barry says, and Caitlin watches the way his eyes cloud over, losing himself in the memory, "I can remember it so clearly. To this day I haven't forgotten it."

Caitlin leans forward, taking another sip of her water and wishing she could follow Barry into whatever far-off memory he's disappeared into.

"I would be somewhere in the city. Some random street, somewhere downtown. But I could hear my mother calling me. Pleading for me to come home for dinner. So I would run to her. And I would just sort of stumble my way around the city. But as I got closer, instead of her voice growing louder, it got fainter. Farther away." Barry shakes his head, "And the further away it got, the faster I would run. And I knew that she was in trouble because her voice would get so frantic. So terrified. Sooner or later I would find myself rounding the corner of my street and skidding to a halt in my front yard."

"Is that when you would wake up?"

"No. She would stop calling for me. She stopped sounding worried, and instead she would just scream. And when I would open the door, everything would just—" he makes a cutting motion with his hands, and he doesn't have to explain because Caitlin picks up on his meaning painfully quick. "The sound of her voice, my breathing. Everything."

"What then?"

Barry is quiet for a minute then. He seems to bounce between wanting to continue, and just dropping the whole thing entirely and waving down a waitress. Caitlin thinks for a moment, and then makes a bold decision. She puts her hand on top of his and squeezes. Barry starts at the sudden contact, and Caitlin feels like the biggest fool in the world, but then his eyes melt, and that thousand-mile gaze disintegrates and beneath it is Barry's usual warm, watchful gaze. Caitlin feels better when he squeezes her hand back and smiles.

"I see yellow lightning. A little hurricane of it. And then she's…gone. I'm too late. I was always too late."

"You said you _used_ to have this dream. Do you not have it anymore?" she asks.

Barry shakes his head. "No. Ever since I became the Flash, I haven't had it once." He smiles, suddenly bashful, "I think - I think I stopped having it because I'm not too slow anymore. I'm fast enough to make a difference."

"And you have been."

"I'm trying to. And I don't question why anymore. Because now I know; I became the Flash because I _want_ to make a _difference_."

Caitlin races her water. "To making a difference."

Barry laughs and joins her in the toast.

They eat and laugh as the world outside turns steadily into a wonderland of frost and snow. They sit in the restaurant, pretending that time is of no consequence. And it feels good to take a night off. Feels good to remind themselves that above all else, they're friends, and that's the reason they work so well together.

When it comes time to leave, Caitlin pulls him into the square to watch the holiday decorations light up in the snow. It's a beautiful sight. They stand in a circle of glowing stars and Caitlin breathes in deep. She's thankful to have things be so simple and perfectly sane. At least just for the night.

They stay there, enjoying each other's company. When her hands get cold, Barry takes them in his and vibrates them until they feel like she's had them near a comfortable fire. At some point they duck into a nearby coffee shop for warmth, grabbing a cup.

Sometime around ten o'clock, Caitlin feels a flutter in her chest and stifles a yawn. Barry grins down at her and says, "Sleepy?"

She clears her throat, feeling a little bit embarrassed. "Sorry, ten o'clock is late for me. I'm a bit a grandma."

"Oh, yeah?" he laughs.

"Please, have you met me? Do I look like the party animal type?"

A mischievous little grin covered his features, and he hums out a section of 'Summer Lovin' and she goes scarlet.

"That's an exception," she snaps and Barry's laughter booms in the serene quiet of their snow-globe world.

"Sure it is Doctor Snow."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Eeehhhh, probably not."

She can't help the little chuckle that slips from her lips. Usually she would have felt her embarrassment burning through her cheeks still, but instead, it had faded as fast as it had come. She doesn't mind Barry having seen that side of her. In fact she kind of enjoys the inside joke it's become between them.

"I'll figure out a way to get you drunk one day, Mr. Allen. I'll make you a pill or something, and then we'll see who embarrasses themselves more."

"I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to that or not."

"I am and that's really all that matters."

They laugh and Caitlin struggles to keep her mirth from becoming a yawn. The coffee hasn't hit her yet, and she's hoping it does soon. She doesn't want the night to end just yet.

Everything is good. It's not perfect. But it's close. There's still the chaos of the world they exist in as Team Flash threatening to burst in and tear down this little moment of clarity and simplicity, but for now Caitlin thinks she just wants to enjoy it.

She eyes the sky, her mind absently wandering, and she starts wondering what the stars would look like if they weren't hidden behind the tufts of thick, snow-laden clouds. In the soft amber glow of the holiday lights around them, the clouds take on a mellow orange hue. She thinks about how she can name all the reasons why they shouldn't be out in the cold. She can name exactly what biological function is causing the tingling pinpricks of shivers in her fingertips. Or why her nose smarts as a stray gust of frigid air dusts past. Or why her knees shake and her teeth chatter. Yet for all of it, she can't think of a more perfect reprieve. She can't think of any place she'd rather be. Or any way she'd rather be spending tonight.

"Come on. Let me take you home," Barry says, and offers his arm. She links hers with his, and lets Barry guide her back to her car.

As they walk, Caitlin glances back at the decorations and thinks that maybe this holiday season will be the best one yet.

* * *

They stop outside her apartment complex, the world thick with cold air and snow. She buzzes them up and they don't mention how Barry already knows his way to her door. They hover outside the mahogany threshold of her apartment.

"So here we are," she echoes, because it feels like they're standing on some kind of precipice. Because she feels like she's standing outside of another gate. Something has changed – shifted – in the space they kept between themselves. They're standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out into the big neon unknown.

"Here we are." He responds, and maybe she's over-thinking, maybe she's letting the analytical aspect of her brain have too much leeway, but she thinks maybe he feels the same. It's in the way he lingers. The way his fingers fidget near hers.

They hover over something. She recognizes it. He must too. And it only feels right to say those four little words because it seems appropriate. For all her skills and all her wit, she feels lost. Out of her depth. This is complicated in all the areas she's clueless in.

They could turn and walk away. They could jump headlong over this hazy line they'd drawn so long ago. The options seem so small, so binary. Black and white. Do or don't.

Somehow, they feel equally endless. Ad infinitum.

Yet here they stand. Here they are.

Caitlin shivers. "I had fun," she says honestly, because she doesn't know what else to say.

Barry grins sheepishly. "I did too. Can… would you… I don't know…would you want to do that again sometime?"

She feels herself smiling too wide. Knows she's looking too eager. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

"Okay. Cool. Yeah, yeah that's great. We'll sit down and… uhm, plan it out?"

"Next time you're not saving the city," she agrees.

"Okay. Yeah, no that sounds perfect."

Caitlin smiles as he looks at his feet, finding the motion oddly endearing. He flounders with his words for a little longer. She doesn't blame him. She's doing the same thing. She knows it because every word she speaks feels like it's just to keep him standing there with her for a little longer. She doesn't want to see him go. Doesn't want to be without his company.

The rational side of her brain chides her quietly.

' _Stop talking. You're embarrassing yourself. Let him go home_.'

But Barry doesn't seem in any rush to leave the hallway just quite yet. She capitalizes on that, enjoying the light that hovers around him like a halo. Enjoying the light that had been absent these last few days.

She wonders if she should invite him in. They could watch a movie or something. Have coffee. Anything. But the idea scares her. The thought of him rejecting the offer makes her stomach twist unpleasantly. For all she knows, he could just want to go home and sleep. No, she needs more. She thinks that she should view this like a scientific problem. Use the scientific method. Gather information. Evidence. Anything that might clue her in on how Barry might actually view this whole… _thing_ …because she feels so hopelessly out of her element here.

Finally, it seems like they've run out of things to talk about. Barry reaches out and hugs her before moving away. Stuffing his hands into pockets.

"Well I guess I'll, uhm, see you tomorrow?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'll see you then?"

"Yeah. Definitely." He says, hovering in her doorway for a moment more, "Goodnight, Caitlin."

"Night, Barry." She says, and she can't pretend her disappointment doesn't crystallize into a stone and sink with a sudden catch of gravity into the pit of her stomach. She wants to shake her head. She knows she'd gotten caught up in the _moment_. For lack of a better word.

She watches him walk down the hall, running a hand through his hair.

Maybe it's for the best, she thinks. She can list a hundred and one reasons why. But those reasons don't seem to soften the sting of the feeling that she's only seen something halfway through.

She wraps her fingers around her door handle. She doesn't want to close it just yet. Closing it now feels like closing the door on the night entirely. It feels like shutting out whatever had passed between them in the threshold of her apartment.

 _So here we are._

Caitlin smiles ruefully. _So here we are, indeed. And we chose to walk away._

She pulls the mahogany wood shut when a hand wraps around the edge of the door.

"Caitlin?"

She blinks. "Barry?"

She pulls the door back open, and he's standing there. Fidgeting. Restless. Foot tapping out a rhythm at super-human speed. Like his mind is moving a mile a minute. She supposes it technically is.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Caitlin asks, suddenly finding herself concerned.

Barry levels her with a look that sends a rush of warmth through her. "Listen, Cait, tonight… you showed me something."

"I did?"

He nods, "You showed me that I could be strong. That I could be brave even when I didn't think I could be. Because I have people behind me." He swallows; she can see the muscles in his throat cord and contract. Caitlin finds herself swallowing in response. "I didn't think I was brave enough, strong enough to face what scares me. But you were there. You stood by my side, even though I was afraid. You looked at me and made me realize that I'm not a coward. That I can face the things that might terrify me."

"Barry, if you're trying to thank me, you know you don't need to right?" Caitlin says, "I'm here for you just like you're here for me. Simple as that."

Barry shakes his head, hand falling from the doorframe. "It's not that. I figured it out. And you helped me. So I want to try and be brave one last time tonight."

She cocks an eyebrow, confused, but the feeling is short lived, because Barry is moving. He's stepping through the doorway. His hand comes up and cups her cheek. She has no idea if he uses his speed or her mind has suddenly frozen and created gaps in what she sees and feels, but he's there.

Then his lips brush against hers. Soft, ghosting along the line of her mouth. Tentative and hesitant, as if waiting for her to push him away. She feels her fingertips finding purchase along the fabric covering the corded muscle beneath his collarbone. Somewhere, she's dimly aware of her eyes fluttering shut. Then she's pushing her lips into his.

He responds in kind. A hand winds down to her hipbone, pulling her closer. She can feel the heat of him. His fingers burn a warm line of liquid fire through the fabric of her sweater.

He pulls away then, lips just a fraction from hers, and says her name, "Should I…" but he can't finish the sentence. Because they're back on that ledge. All it would take is a push, and they'd be leaping right down into that big abyss. It's then that Caitlin understands what he's trying to do.

Barry is giving her an out. Letting her know that he could leave and they could pretend this never happened and let things go back to the way they were.

She thinks back on those four little words. Four little words that seemed to have taken on a whole new meaning over the course of the night.

 _So here we are._

So instead she moves closer. Lets her fingernails snake up the nape of his neck and card their way through his hair. "Barry," she says, smiling slow and languid, "Stay."

Caitlin isn't sure who moves first, she just knows that his lips meld back against hers and there's explosions of red and yellow behind her eyes, and she smiles against his lips.

Then his top lip slots along her bottom lip and she can feel his tongue warming the inside of her mouth. She pulls him inside, letting the door click shut behind them. Shut on all of the what-ifs and questions about the future and what this might mean and how it might affect them.

She can feel Barry's smile against hers, sweet and shy and excited, and it's all she needs to pull him closer. His leg slips between hers, her arms come up to wrap themselves around his neck, and she feels the cool wood of the wall against her back as Barry hauls her up off her feet and her legs cinch around his waist. She shrugs his coat off, and he does the same for her.

She tugs him toward the couch. Where they move like two teenagers, finally given the chance to be alone.

Later, after she's sure that Barry's used his speed to move them from the couch to the bedroom, and he's accidently bummed her head against the wall in the process, she'll laugh. Loud and bright and happy. And he'll apologize profusely, until she pulls him back down to ghost her lips over his and then he'll be laughing too.

At some point, neither of them is sure when, but that laughter gives way to other things. To hummingbird heartbeats and tangled limbs and jumbled, breathless words. She thinks their bodies fit well together. Clicking into place like lock and key.

Morning will come. And she'll curl into his side and wait for Barry to wake. When he does, she is pleasantly surprised to find him leaning down to press a kiss against her lips. Earnest and full of all of the things he's not quite sure how to say.

"So here we are," he'll say with a smile when he's finally pulled away, hand finding hers beneath the covers.

And she'll echo him because she knows she's not afraid and neither is he.

* * *

Author's Note:

So I wrote this story because while I was working on my other story 'Tongue Tied July' I found I wasn't quite comfortable writing Caitlin. She's an extremely difficult character to nail down, in my opinion. She's equal parts cold and uptight, and awkward and sassy. She's very difficult to nail down and catch her tone correctly (props to DP for being able to do that). And the thought of writing her out of character irritated the hell out of me. I'm also the kind of writer who tends to lean towards the edgy angsty side of things, and I was in the mood to write a story like that and I didn't want to force any of that into Tongue Tied July where it wasn't warranted. So I decided before I publish any more of TTJ I would kill two birds with one stone and write a story completely seperate from TTJ and do it entirely from Caitlin's POV to kind of get some practice in as well as do a bit more of a dramatic story. And hence, 'So Here We Are' was born. Hopefully you guys enjoy it. There's more coming to TTJ soon! A couple songs inspired this story. Lets see if you guys can pick up on them!

-Poet


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